


Pas de deux

by translorastyrell (nerddowell)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Loras loves it though, M/M, ballet dancer!Loras, prima ballerina!Sansa, stage manager!Renly, why is my Renly always so adorably awkward? it's a mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15217268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/translorastyrell
Summary: a fill for the following Tumblr post:*clenches fist* BALLET DANCER LORAS*pounds fist on the table* LORAS WEARING A DUMB HEADBAND TO REHEARSAL TO KEEP HIS HAIR BACK*punches you in the face* LORAS WORKING HIS WAY UP FROM UNDERSTUDY TO LEADING MAN AND MARGAERY MAKES SURE TO BE FRONT ROW IN THE AUDIENCE WHEN HE DEBUTS AS A LEAD*punches myself in the face* LORAS SETTING HIS SISTER UP WITH THE PRIMA BALLERINA SANSA STARK*launches myself off a cliff* LORAS WITH A HUGE CRUSH ON THE STAGE MANAGER RENLY WHOS BEEN SECRETLY LEAVING FLOWERS IN HIS DRESSING ROOM





	Pas de deux

Loras picks up his bottle of water from beside the barre and takes a swig, pulling his headband off and running his hand through his mass of lazy brown curls before sliding it back over his head. Rehearsals for _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ are well underway, and he’s been at the studio since six a.m. this morning. Beside him at the barre, the production’s prima ballerina and his Titania, Sansa, is stretching, humming to herself the music from the _pas de deux_ in Act One she had been practising with their Bottom, Theon.

Loras personally thinks that the donkey mask would be an improvement on Theon’s usual face, but he’s been told before that _if you’ve got nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything at all_ , so he keeps it to himself and instead allows his thoughts to trail off into altogether more pleasant territory. Namely, thinking about the stage manager, Renly, who is the single hottest person Loras has ever seen; quite frankly it’s a crime that he spends his time lingering backstage and not under the spotlight where the sheer beauty of his blue eyes and killer abs can be appreciated as they deserve.

Margaery tells Loras he’s shallow. Loras reminds her that he’s a _danseur_ in the most prestigious ballet company in Britain, and it’s therefore his right to be as shallow and arrogant as he pleases, particularly since he’s now the male lead since Jaime Lannister retired last year. Loras wishes his sister Cersei would do the same, but she’s the main _prima ballerina_ in the company. (Every time Sansa walks past with her Midsummer costume, Cersei looks like she’s going to pitch a fit; sitting back and watching her beautiful, pale face turn red with fury and jealousy is one of Loras’ favourite pastimes, and he always makes sure to get ringside seats for rehearsals.)

Their director, Oberyn, has turned up to watch today, and he’s chatting with Renly in the corner, both of them whispering intently to one another as Renly scribbles on his clipboard. Loras takes the opportunity to admire Renly’s frankly stellar arse in his tight black jeans and turns a couple of cartwheels around the room, purely because he can. He did gymnastics alongside ballet for years, and he sometimes misses it, the double rings and balance beams and the vaulting box; but ballet was very similar, and he supposes he’s made a good call because he’s climbed the ranks from understudy to male lead faster than anyone since Jaime Lannister.

Renly glances over his shoulder in Loras’ direction, and he quickly tears his eyes away from the curve of Renly’s arse and pretends to be engaged in mending the elastic on his shoes. Sansa comes and sits down next to him, digging her pointe shoes out of her bag, and fixes him with a Look. (Loras has seen this type of Look before, mainly from Margaery, whenever he’s being too obvious in lusting after some boy or another.)

‘When are you two actually going to stop skirting around one another?’ Sansa asks, rolling her eyes. Loras shrugs and rubs at his toes, wincing as the calluses on his thumb rub over a new and tender blister.

‘I dunno.’

‘It’s getting ridiculous now,’ Jon, one of the music technicians, chips in from his position by the stereo. ‘Neither of you have even been concentrating this rehearsal, you’re too busy making cow eyes at each other across the studio.’

Loras is about to argue that he’s never made cow eyes at anyone in his life, but thinks better of it because he knows Jon will just raise one perfect eyebrow (all those goddamn Stark boys, with their rugged jawlines and Colin Farrell eyebrows and the Northern accents that sound like something out of Billy Elliot and used to make Loras’ knees weak before he caught sight of Renly and his magnificent arse) and accuse him of _The lady doth protest too much_.

Jon just smirks, and Sansa tinkles a delicate laugh before climbing gracefully to her feet and practising her pointe steps. Loras doesn’t miss pointe dancing; he’d played an Ugly Sister one year for Cinderella when he was at school – which Garlan still hasn’t let him live down – and spent every rehearsal complaining bitterly about the pain in his ankles. He doesn’t know how Sansa manages to do it day in, day out without breaking something.

Oberyn shoos Renly away and claps his hands, the signal to resume rehearsal, and gives Sansa her cue.

* * *

Opening night is always a nervous occasion. Loras knows Sansa has probably spent the thirty minutes before curtain calls in her dressing room with a bucket and a lot of breath mints; no matter how many times she’s told she’s doing a fantastic job, that she’ll be as beautiful and ethereal a Titania as has ever been seen before, she never fails to go green at the thought of opening night in her first _prima ballerina_ rôle. Even Loras is feeling a little skittish, butterflies in his stomach, and he doesn’t even appear for a while. Sansa is standing on the other side of the stage in fourth position, ethereal in floaty white fabric and leaf-patterned stage paint, a silver circlet of flowers and vines crowning her hair.

Loras fights the urge to push an artfully-placed curl out of his eyes and instead watches carefully as the curtain rises and Sansa emerges onto the main stage, surrounded by her attendants – Jeyne Poole, Beth Cassel, and the other female company dancers. They’re beautiful, precise but liquid in their movements, and Sansa seems to float on air whenever she jumps. Loras wishes he could catch Margaery’s eye. She’s been enthralled by Sansa since seeing her opposite Loras in his first ballet, and he can imagine the expression of awe in her eyes as Sansa flutters towards the edge of the stage, curtseying to Oberon – Robb – as he strides out.

(Loras is still a bit uncomfortable with the fact that Oberon and Titania are again a brother-sister casting, although he’s pretty sure that Robb and Sansa won’t take the relationship off stage as well the way the Lannister siblings were rumoured to have done.)

Renly is gesturing opposite for him to be ready as the music leads to his cue; Loras saunters out from the wings to start a playful sort of hide-and-seek behind the scenery; as Puck, he’s got none of Sansa and Robb’s stately gravitas. Instead, it’s his job to look as spritely and mischievous as possible, and he revels in it. He springs to the forefront of the stage and throws himself into the choreography, pulling a real peony from a concealed pocket of his cloak to deposit in Lysander’s hand. Lysander, danced by Satin, takes a deep inhale before collapsing senseless to the ground; Loras mimes a shrug and a laugh before pattering away in search of Puck’s next victim.

The show progresses; Sansa dances her _pas de deux_ with donkey-headed Theon beautifully, and Loras hides out in the wings to try and spot Margaery in the audience. Puck is told off by Oberon, and he mimes contriteness and drags his feet across the stage like a pouty three-year-old, making Sansa’s face contort for a second as she stifles a laugh in the wings. Theseus and Hippolyta, the Lannister twins, get married, alongside Satin and Daenerys as Lysander and Hermia, and Viserys ( _total cock_ , Loras thinks) and Myrcella as Demetrius and Helena. Loras receives the loudest applause at the end when taking his bow, and he smiles directly at his sister, sat in the centre of the front row flanked by the rest of his family on either side.

* * *

His dressing room is cool, a relief after the heat of the stage underneath the bright lighting, and Loras flops down into his chair with little thought about the crumpling of his costume. A splash of colour to his right catches his eye, and he turns his head to see a large bunch of yellow roses set in a pretty glass vase, a ribbon around one stem holding a card in place. He picks it up and looks for a message, but there’s nothing besides _From an admirer_ , disappointingly typed (no doubt to hide the identifying handwriting). Loras’ heart still skips a beat. He knows who he wants them to be from, after all.

Margaery bursts through his dressing room door a moment later, as he’s taking his makeup off, and flings her arms around him with a proud smile all over her face.

‘Loras, you were amazing!’

‘I know,’ he says, and she grins at him, holding out another bunch of flowers. She’s brought him white roses, and he dumps them in a pint glass full of water for lack of anything else to put them in. She tuts at him – ‘You’ll ruin them, just throwing them in there like that!’ – and busies herself arranging them nicely before she, too, spots the roses in the vase and throws a delighted smile over her shoulder.

‘Well, well, little brother.’

‘I’m not your little brother,’ Loras tells her, even though they have this argument every time because he’s an inch taller when they’re both barefoot but Margaery is never out of heels. ‘I’m older than you no matter what you’ve got on your feet, _little sister_.’

‘Whatever you say, darling,’ she murmurs, and picks up the card. ‘‘From an admirer’. How mysterious.’ She shoots him a sly grin. ‘No sign of our dearest stage manager, then?’

‘It’s not him,’ Loras says automatically, although God, please, he _hopes_ it’s him, he hopes _so badly_ that they’re from him –

Margaery’s answer is lost as someone knocks on the door, and when Loras says ‘Come in!’, Renly’s handsome dark head appears around the door jamb. He seems somewhat flustered to see Loras shirtless and still in his ballet tights, makeup smeared over his face in the process of being removed and hair a mess where he’s tugged the hairsprayed style out of it. Loras watches his eyes flicker down to his abs and get stuck, the blush rising to Renly’s cheeks adorable in its shade of neon pink, before Renly clears his throat and manages to look up again before going even redder at having been caught.

‘You, um,’ he starts, and Loras smiles, raising his eyebrows expectantly. ‘You danced well.’

‘Only well?’ he says, lightly teasing, ‘I’ll have to work harder.’

‘Very well,’ Renly corrects himself, flustered. ‘Really, really well. Beautiful. Stunning, in fact. I mean, I know nothing about choreography or ballet so you could’ve – you could’ve been doing the Macarena all night for all I knew, but – but it was – very good nonetheless.’ He swallows visibly. ‘I… I thought you were great,’ he trails off adorably, and Loras grins.

‘Thank you,’ he says sincerely, and Margaery leans around him to grin at Renly and say, ‘For the roses as well.’

‘ _Margaery_!’ Loras snaps as Renly’s eyes widen and he splutters, ‘But how did you–?’ and they both stare at each other in surprise.

‘The name Tyrell’s on the florist’s sign didn’t clue you in?’ Margaery asks Renly, and Loras had thought it would be impossible for Renly’s face to go any deeper a shade of red, but apparently he was wrong, because Renly now looks like an exceedingly handsome tomato.

‘Right,’ he mumbles, and Loras kisses him.

He can’t help it. Renly is the most gorgeous, adorably awkward, kind-hearted man Loras has ever met, and he’s been restraining himself from doing exactly this for months now, ever since Renly had arrived on the job. His lips are warm and soft beneath Loras’, his beard lightly scratchy against Loras’ upper lip, and the soft moan he lets out when Loras licks into his mouth is music to Loras’ ears.

After several long seconds of watching her brother make out with his stage manager against the vanity table, Margaery coughs pointedly and they break apart.

‘Loras,’ she says, ‘as wonderful as it is that you’ve finally got your man – and welcome to the family, Renly – I would quite like to get to Sansa’s dressing room at some point tonight for that introduction you’ve been promising me.’ She produces another, much larger, bouquet, this time of red roses, from a gift bag at her feet and Loras grins.

‘She’s going to love you, sis.’

‘I plan on it,’ Margaery says, and holds the door open for him to lead the way. Loras grabs Renly’s hand to drag him along, and goes to set up his sister with his _prima ballerina_ , Margaery and her roses in tow.

**Author's Note:**

> For costume references, look at the Northen Ballet production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ because they are _stunning_ :  
> [Titania (Sansa)](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/c0/41/32c041be35028d8a17e7c95f3fdbfb51.jpg)  
> [Puck (Loras)](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/46/67/87/466787776c05638ece2230d9f5a6a7fb.jpg)  
> [Bottom (Theon)](https://northernballet.com/sites/default/files/galleries/Northern-Ballet-dancers-Matthew-Topliss-%26-Pippa-Moore-2a.jpg)  
> [Oberon (Robb)](https://northernballet.com/sites/default/files/galleries/03-1280.jpg) (left)


End file.
